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Running, laughing with his face buried in the fur trim of his parkie, a small boy succeeds in out distancing his friend who is also running as fast as his tiny legs will carry him. His friend is trying to catch him and take back the boys favourite stick.
The boys, one white, one Inuk are small for their age, they will both attend "beginners" a form of kindergarten in the coming fall, they are five years old. Both boys stumble over stones wearing their black and red gumboots that don't quite fit.
"Kurtis-s-s," wails his buddy, "give it back, give me my stick!" Kurtis knows he's winning the race, in his exuberance he forgets where he is. Little hands in mittens swing outward as he struggles to maintain his balance on rolling rocks in too big gumboots. Jaws of steel clamp on the edge of tiny fingers and the trap is set, death can be your shadow in the Arctic. The little boy is pulled into the dog line.
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